


It Suits You

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 11:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10333772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: The suit may make the man, but Eames knows it's what's underneath that really counts.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenThayet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/gifts).



> This was a commission for QueenThayet, who asked for Arthur in lingerie and heels. She has graciously given me permission to post it here for you all to enjoy.

Eames watches Arthur stalk across the room, his back straight and his hips swaying as he zeros in on his prey. He’s in his element like this, Eames thinks. Skillfully and efficiently gathering the loose ends that will draw together the final elements and create a perfect vision. Eames can’t say he’s surprised that Arthur has taken to this task as easily as he took to dreamshare; wedding planning isn’t all that different than corporate espionage.

 

The ceremony goes off without a hitch and the reception is winding down nicely, the bride and groom already on their merry way while Arthur makes the rounds, tipping the service people. It’s his baby sister’s wedding, and he’s spared no expense. Eames teased him at first about living vicariously through her since their own vows were said under a hail of gunfire, the judge a mark they discovered was really a witness and in need of protection, not extraction. It was quick and violent, just how Eames and Arthur like it. But the teasing lost its appeal when Arthur agreed.

 

Arthur’s shoes click on the dancefloor as he makes his way to Eames. His own tux is in shambles, bowtie loose around his neck, shirt wilted and limp where it’s halfway unbuttoned down his chest. But  _ Arthur _ . Arthur, looks like he got dressed twenty minutes ago. He’s sharp, and crisp, and Eames’ mouth waters at the thought of how Arthur’s calves must flex and shift to accommodate the heels he has on.

 

He lets Arthur pull him to his feet, grinning against his lover’s neck as he’s herded out of the ballroom and over to the elevators. As soon as the doors close behind them, Arthur has a hand in Eames’ hair, tilting his head to the side so Eames can rub his stubble over Arthur’s smooth neck, a delightful crimson blooming across his skin. Eames fingers slide under Arthur’s jacket to ruck up his shirt at the small of his back, dipping between his waistband and sweat-slicked skin to brush against the rough edge of lace panties. 

 

Eames shudders with want and tries to delve further, aching for a handful of Arthur’s lush, ornamented ass, but firm hands push him away, not stopping until his back hits the the opposite wall and Arthur’s an arm’s length away. He smirks when the doors open, and leaves Eames panting in the elevator while he sashays down the hall, the hotel keycard flicking between his fingers like a strobe hallucination of Eames’ favourite fantasies.

 

He follows Arthur, his steps heavy but quick, catching up just in time to slip inside before the door shuts. He stills Arthur’s hands when they moves to loosen his bowtie. Eames looks his fill, his eyes tracing every straight line on Arthur’s body, his heart skipping a beat when he thinks about the curves hiding underneath. 

 

Slowly, reverently, he strips Arthur. Piece by piece, his armour is removed and his true self revealed. His shirt offers a glimpse of the black lace cami as the buttons are undone, one of the camisole’s thin straps slipping off Arthur’s shoulder as Eames glides the shirt down his arms. He drops a soft kiss to the curve of Arthur’s neck before righting the strap and dragging his hands down Arthur’s chest, the texture of the lace coarse under his fingertips.

 

Arthur lets out a breathy little moan when Eames pinches his nipple and can’t help chasing the sound back into Arthur’s mouth, dipping his tongue inside to taste Arthur’s sweetness. He rubs over the nipple until he can see the pink of it through the gaps in the pattern, then he does the same to the other side, before dropping to his knees in front of Arthur. His belt hits the floor with a muffled thud and Eames smoothes his thumb over the inch of lace peeking out from the waistband where he’s unhooked the clasp on Arthur’s pants. Eames puts his nose to that spot and inhales. Arthur whimpers and shaking hands thread through Eames’ hair. Arthur smells rich and welcoming, the spice from his cologne mixing with sweat and arousal to make Eames’ head spin. He smells like home. Like everything Eames has ever wanted and never thought he’d get.

 

He mouths at the front of Arthur’s pants, his erection tenting the fabric obscenely. Arthur pulls him away by the hair before he can ruin the fabric, but there’s an indulgent smile on his lips and he scratches lightly at Eames’ scalp in the way he knows sends shivers down Eames’ spine. Eames drags the pants down Arthur’s legs, his own breath stuttering at the sight of Arthur’s thick cock trapped by the thin scrap of lace masquerading as panties. 

 

He smooths his hands back up, his skin hushing over the silk stockings Arthur favours. He thumbs over the clasp on the garter, but Arthur stretches, distracting him. From Eames’ vantage point, Arthur is one long line of smooth flesh, his long arms over his head as his muscles bunch and stretch. Eames is studying the arch of his neck when Arthur’s cock nudges his cheek, as though reminding him of his task. Arthur laughs and Eames grins up at him, pressing the fabric to the head and letting precome soak through. Arthur hisses when he drags the fabric to the side, but it turns to a moan as Eames’ takes him in. 

 

Arthur is warm and heavy on his tongue, just like always, but there’s an urgency to his movements, like he just can’t wait to get deep and wet, and Eames lets his jaw go slack so Arthur can fuck into him at his own pace. Arthur’s hands run through his hair and smooth over his jacket where it bunches around his shoulders. His fingers are cold but gentle when they trace Eames’ mouth as it stretches to accommodate his cock, and when he cups either side of Eames’ jaw and holds himself still, invasive but welcome as he throbs against the back of Eames’ throat, his eyes flutter shut and he groans.

 

“ _ Eames. _ ”

 

Eames takes over then, twisting his fingers in Arthur’s garter and dragging him in deeper, pulling off almost all the way only to sink down again and again, sucking hard enough to make his teeth ache. His throat feels raw from taking Arthur so deep, from forcing himself to make room for the fat head of Arthur’s cock and the shaft that follows. He’s full, so full, and he never wants to be anything else.

 

His own cock is trapped in his pants, but Arthur’s foot is resting on his thigh, the sharp heel of his shoe digging into Eames’ leg, and it’s good, it’s enough. He’s so close and with the sounds Arthur’s making, the way his hands are clenching around Eames’ ears, he’s not far behind. 

 

He cups Arthur’s ass, his hands curving over the crease where cheek meets thigh. He slides his thumbs between Arthur’s legs, stroking over his slick hole to massage the impossibly smooth skin behind Arthur’s sack. Arthur whines, his nails sinking into Eames’ scalp as he tries to push forward and lean back simultaneously. Knowing Arthur’s been like this all day, wrapped in silk and lace under his suit, slick and open, just waiting for him drives him wild. Eames hums around him, his touch growing firmer as Arthur chokes out praise above him. He’s bent nearly in two, body curving over Eames as he’s taken apart. His heel bites into Eames’ trousers and there will probably be a hole in the end, but it’s the anchoring point of this little tableau, and the bright sting of pain is bringing Eames closer and closer to the edge.

 

Arthur’s cock jumps and Eames’ thumb press harder, pushing  Arthur’s orgasm out with force. Arthur cries out, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself down Eames’ throat. The moment he’s done, Eames pushes him off, gritting his teeth when Arthur’s heel frees itself from the depression it’s created. He shuffles forward on his knees, urging Arthur back and around until he’s leaning over the back of the room’s loveseat. 

 

He bites his way up the backs of Arthur’s thighs, leaving wet indents in the silk of his stockings and nearly blinding himself when one of the garter straps snap open. Arthur huffs and laugh and Eames bites his cheek, hard, keeping a firm grip on Arthur’s flesh until he’s gasping. He licks over the bite, lace dragging across his tongue like a rough kiss.

 

He doesn’t bother pulling down the panties, but peels them to the side to slide two fingers into Arthur, groaning at the heat and the stretch of him. Eames opens his pants with his other hand, twisting inside Arthur while he frees his aching cock. He get to his feet and slides his cock in alongside his fingers. Arthur keens, one leg kicking up and nearly sending him tumbling over the other side of the sofa. Eames giggles a little wildly and wraps his hand around the front of Arthur’s thigh, using it to haul Arthur back to him. His other hand slides under Arthur’s panties and garter, twisting to get a firm grip. He drags out slowly, the head of his cock barely past the rim of Arthur’s hole, and waits until Arthur starts to squirm to shove back in. Arthur cries out and slumps over that back of the sofa, his other foot coming clear off the floor. 

 

Eames does it again, quickly losing the patience for teasing when he’s so close and Arthur is so tight. He fucks into Arthur, sweating through his tux and not caring a lick because the body beneath his is warm, and open, and willing, and Arthur is panting his name like it’s the only word he knows. Like Eames is the only thing he needs.

 

Arthur’s camisole is riding up his back, slowly making its way past the constellation of moles on Arthur’s side and unveiling more of Arthur beautiful, delectable skin. Eames can’t look down. Can’t watch himself sink into Arthur’s body, both because it will set off the delicate balance allowing Arthur to remain upright, and because he’ll come too soon if he does. So instead he keeps his eyes glued to that little cluster of moles that mar Arthur’s flesh. Eames knows the shape and the texture of them under his fingertips and tongue. He has names for them all, and in lighter moments he’s been known to talk to them. In the beginning he would watch Arthur sleep, the weight and gravity of the love he was too afraid to admit to heavy in his chest. But he could tell those small, dark marks. They wouldn’t betray his trust and they wouldn’t say  _ sorry, no _ .

 

“Eames,” Arthur rasps. Both legs are in the air now, one shoe on the floor, and Eames steps in a little closer, holds Arthur a little firmer as he rocks in, unable to drag it out any longer.

 

Sweat stings his eyes, and his shoes are pinching his feet, but Arthur’s urging him on with soft, filthy words, and Eames can’t help but bury himself as deep as he can and let go. His breath punches out of him in a grunt and his fingers press hard enough to bruise as his orgasm rolls through him. Arthur’s rolling his hips as much as he’s able, trying to fuck himself on Eames even now. He’s pinned between Eames and the loveseat, but they must have the angle right because Arthur clenches like a vise around him and groans, come splattering the back of the sofa. Eames pats Arthur on the ass  when he remembers that Arthur booked the hotel with a credit card in his real name.

 

Arthur goes limp when Eames pulls out, draped over the back of the sofa like a rag doll, his toes barely brushing the carpet. Eames eases his other leg down and pivots Arthur upright to gather him in his arms, holding his warm body close. Now Arthur smells like sex and sweat and  _ them _ , and it’s all Eames can do not to stop right there and pour his heart out all over again, just like he’s done before. But Arthur knows,  _ he knows _ , and Eames doesn’t have to do that. Because Arthur feels the same, day after day and year after year, they’re in this together. For always.

  
  



End file.
